Voices
by rayychel infinity
Summary: If there's anyone he should want to lose his virginity to, it's Blaine. And he does. He wants to have proper sex with him, wants to feel Blaine come apart under him. There's so much he wants to do with him that this is just the tip of the iceberg.


**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own _Glee_, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy.  
>Warnings are: consensual first-time sex between two minors, dirty talk, swearing.<p>

And I've not done this before, but I want to say a huge, huge thank you to all the people I see review on every story that I post. I love you all dearly :) and of course everyone else who reviews! You all are such sweethearts.**  
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**xxxxXxxxx**

The last thing that Kurt expects to hear when answering his phone is "I wanna blow you."

He pulls the phone away from his ear, furrowing his brow in confusion, and checks to make sure that it is, in fact, Blaine calling and his voice on the receiver and not some deranged maniac who's awfully good at impressions.

"Um, what?" he asks rather stupidly.

"I thought my intention was clear," Blaine replies, sounding slightly miffed. "But I mean, if you want me to phrase it differently… I wanna suck your cock, take you so deep down my throat that you come harder than you ever have before in your life."

"_What_?" Kurt repeats, a little more emphasis on the word this time. This… He has to be imagining things. He and Blaine don't talk like this to each other. He's just barely begun to feel comfortable getting intimate with… _other_ parts of Blaine, and while the lower, smokier register his boyfriend had suddenly adopted was undeniably sexy, it's just so weird.

And since when did Blaine talk like _that_?

"Seriously, Kurt?" Blaine whines.

Kurt takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the sudden interest his dick's taken in the moment. "No, no, I know what you're saying. Obviously," he adds with a nervous laugh. His heart thumps faster against his ribcage, like it wants to burst out of his chest. "I just… You've never been so straightforward about it before. I had no idea I was dating a phone sex operator."

On the other end Kurt can hear a tiny little groan, small enough to almost miss, and Blaine's voice is a note breathier than it was before. "I've never been so turned on in my _life_ before," he replies, and if Kurt didn't know any better he'd suspect that Blaine was jerking off. "Frankly, I don't care what comes out of my mouth right now."

"Blaine, are you…?" he asks carefully, holding the phone tighter in his hand and trying to imagine Blaine in ways that he hasn't seen before.

His answer is a laugh. "No. Not yet, at least." Blaine breathes in sharp, something close to a gasp. "I just… I saw the best video today and I couldn't stop thinking about you and all the stuff that I wanna do to you and want you to do to me." He pauses in the wake of his words and Kurt's stunned silence. "I went too far, didn't I? Oh god, I probably totally just screwed everything up. I'm so sorry, Kurt—"

"Blaine!" Kurt says, cutting him off before he can set into a rant. "What… kind of video did you watch?" He tries to keep his tone light, conversational, but he knows he's failing miserably because his voice is becoming just as wrecked as Blaine's already is. He already has an inkling of what this video might be but he's suddenly overcome with an urge to hear Blaine say the words.

"Kurt," Blaine groans, a drawn-out noise Kurt's heard only a handful of times before, its timbre something that never fails to excite him. "Are you really asking me? You seriously are." He sounds a little gleeful and Kurt can't help but smile at his excitement.

He's said before that he has a problem with "those videos," but that was only because he couldn't concentrate on anything but the fact that it was all staged, that those men looked like no one he'd ever get between his sheets, and watching other people have sex is just _horribly awkward_, not to mention a total invasion of privacy.

Blaine's blushingly let it slip that he watches them sometimes, mainly when he needs stress relief, and Kurt vaguely remembers Blaine saying something about a physics test coming up soon, a subject he'd never been too good at but took anyway. Kurt had wanted to tell Blaine that _he_ could be his stress relief now but was sure he wouldn't be able to say anything without turning scarlet and stammering as bad as Tina had when she had her fake stutter.

"Tell me your dirtiest, darkest secrets, Blaine Warbler," Kurt says with a grin that Blaine can't see.

"He—he sort of looked like you," Blaine begins, voice pinched and Kurt likes to imagine that his shirt's off by now, his hands running down his sides and fingertips trailing over the bumps of his abs. He's probably lying on his bed, spread out and as flushed as his dark skin allows. "The guy doing the fucking." Kurt inhales sharply and doesn't stop the hand that snakes down to rub at the front of his jeans.

"Yeah?" Kurt breathes. "Did the guy getting…" he pauses, knows that there's no better time, and continues with, "_fucked_ look like you?" He's in shock that such a word can come out of his mouth so easy, so fluidly like it was always meant to roll off his tongue. Blaine's rewarding groan is enough of an answer.

"Sort of," Blaine says. "Maybe. I don't know. I just never knew that I could want something as badly as that." His groans morph, settling in the range of throaty moans, and Kurt can tell that he's probably got his hand wrapped around himself, pulling in long, tight strokes.

"You want me to fuck you?" Kurt asks, as much for his own clarification as hearing that he's actually physically wanted by someone, desired in the between-sheets sense that he's never experienced before. He slides his shirt and jeans off as he closes his door, locks it, and settles on his bed, legs splayed and bare chest glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

"Fuck, _yes_," Blaine answers. "God, I want your cock, want _everything_ about you. I want it so much that it hurts sometimes, Kurt. I miss you being at Dalton and I wish that I had realized this all sooner."

This is absolutely ridiculous and Kurt doesn't know how he got so lucky. They haven't been dating more than a few months, barely have gotten to under-the-clothes groping, and now they're having phone sex, a relation that Santana is probably the only champion at.

It still doesn't stop him from sliding a hand down his chest, taking a brief detour to tweak at a nipple until it pebbles, and wrapping his hand around his cock with a small moan. "I wanna fuck you," he gasps, thumbing the tip on his way back down. "If I could I would right now."

"You wouldn't even have to ask," Blaine moans. "I'd be all yours in a heartbeat."

Blaine's voice is getting more desperate, the sounds more drawn-out and wanton, and Kurt knows from their scant frottage-and-handjob sessions that he's getting close. He feels the familiar heat swooping low in his stomach, spreading out, and he cradles his phone between his head and the pillow, taking the index and middle fingers of his free hand and slicking them up with saliva.

His fingers are barely pressing at his entrance, teasing, before he hears Blaine's deep moan and sated silence. It's with this knowledge that he's made Blaine come only with his voice—and a little stimulation on both their sides, but who's counting—that Kurt breaches slightly past the ring of muscle and comes into his own fist with a breathy gasp, Blaine's name situated firmly on his lips.

"When can we see each other again?" Blaine asks with a laugh and he sounds happier already.

"This weekend, preferably," Kurt replies, reaching for the tissues on his nightstand. "I think that sounds like a good plan."

"Don't judge me if I pounce on you the minute we meet."

"Only if you don't judge me undressing you with my eyes."

"Deal."

**xxxxXxxxx**

It feels like a porno, or at least a cheesy romantic comedy, with Blaine's Dalton tie hanging across a cream-colored lampshade; his blazer, with its sleeves inside out in obvious haste, is carelessly tossed onto a sisal rug and his white button up is a few feet away. Shoes and socks had been the next to go, because _only tacky slobs have sex with socks on, Blaine_.

Even though the ambiance of the room screams sex, Kurt's mind is decidedly not.

This was a dumb decision, he concedes, even as Blaine is licking and biting at his neck and rubbing against his hip with enthusiasm, even as their lips slide and fit together and their tongues mingle in a way that should be disgusting but is far, far from it.

They haven't had sex, hadn't even planned on having it yet; their first foray into skin-on-skin touching had been by accident. He'd only skimmed through the pamphlets given to him by his father before becoming consumed with embarrassment and ended up shoving them to the bottom of his drawer where they would hopefully never see daylight again.

Sure, he could pant out that he wanted to fuck Blaine, that he wanted to blow him and jerk him off and finger him and vice versa. He could_ think_ all these things, imagine them, but performing them is another thing entirely.

He shouldn't be as nervous as he is, because Blaine's a comfortable and familiar weight and scent and sound, but this is so adult, so _new_ that he freaks out a little bit when Blaine's fingers begin to undo the buttons on his jeans.

Sitting back on his heels, cocking his head and eyeing Kurt with veiled confusion and hurt swimming in his large honey eyes, Blaine says nothing as Kurt props himself up on his elbows and tries to steady his breathing and ignore how he's probably flushing with his hair mussed where Blaine's fingers had raked through it.

His sheets are rumpled, his duvet is in a crumpled heap on the floor to prevent it from getting ruined, and Blaine's uniform slacks are already undone, hanging loose and open around his hips enough that Kurt can see the Tiffany robin's egg blue boxers he's wearing today. If he wasn't having such an internal crisis he'd kiss Blaine senseless.

As it is Blaine's shirtless already, his too-well-sculpted-for-a-teenager abs glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, and his pupils are still blown despite the rejection he must be feeling. Kurt takes a deep breath and reaches for Blaine's hand that's resting on his jean-clad knee. Blaine's wrist is strong but surprisingly delicate in his grasp.

"I'm just nervous," he says softly. "This is… It's a big step, is all."

Blaine laughs, smiles a little, and brings their hands up to his mouth to kiss the back of Kurt's hand. "We want it, right?" he asks.

Kurt nods and tries to ignore how it feels like his hand's burning where Blaine's lips had just pressed. This is his first boyfriend, the first guy who's wooed him with proper romantic advances, though some have been slightly misguided and Blaine does tend to have a problem expressing in ways that aren't busting out into spontaneous song and dance.

If there's anyone he should want to lose his virginity to, it's Blaine.

And he does. He wants to have proper sex with him, wants to feel Blaine come apart under him. There's so much he wants to do with him that this is just the tip of the iceberg.

"I'm ready. Let's do it," he says. He rolls his eyes at Blaine's snort and haughtily adds, "Weren't you just getting ready to do something?"

"Cheeky one, you are," Blaine says, although his own tone is no less cheeky. He gently rubs at the front of Kurt's jeans before popping the button and dragging the zip down. Kurt has only a second to brace himself before Blaine's pulling down his briefs enough to grasp his cock in hand. Then there's hot breath and little kitten licks before Blaine is swallowing him down, breathing harshly through his nose as he hollows his cheeks.

Kurt moans an unintelligible string of words, gripping onto the sheet with one hand and using the other to tangle in Blaine's soft curls, not pulling or tugging, just keeping it a comforting weight as Blaine flattens his tongue along the underside and drags back up.

"Blaine," Kurt moans, saying his name like a prayer. "Oh god, _Blaine_, _Blaine_."

Blaine slides off again to nuzzle at the base of Kurt's dick, breathing him in and licking a line from his balls to the sensitive spot right under the ridge that has Kurt's hips snapping up against his own volition. His body trembles slightly. "I wanna ride you," Blaine says, sucking a mark into the sharp jut of Kurt's hipbone. "Is that all right?"

"It is so right that it's almost wrong," Kurt says.

Blaine smirks, a simple gesture made that much filthier by his red, swollen lips and the gleam of saliva on his chin. If it's possible to break one's brain, Blaine has fucking done it. Kurt barely has the presence of mind to slide his jeans and briefs off, kicking them in frustration so that they slide off the bed and onto the floor.

He doesn't even notice that Blaine has stripped and that he's gotten a condom and small bottle of lube from his backpack until he approaches the bed again, blissfully naked and clutching the items in his hand. Kurt opens his mouth to make a snarky comment, something along the lines of _you really kept that in your backpack all day, Blaine_, but he forgets his words when Blaine slides back onto the bed with a grace that should not be possible—though he does stumble a little and has to drop a hand onto the mattress to steady himself, color rising to his cheeks—and hovers over him.

"Hi," Blaine says, his voice changing into a tone of nervousness that relays that he's only seventeen, that they're both only seventeen and neither have ever done this before. His eyes are hooded and dark, but there's a line of tension in his arms, in his back, as he holds himself up.

"Hi," Kurt says back, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, and he presses a hand to the back of Blaine's neck, pulling him down for a simple kiss.

When Blaine's body bends to accommodate the change in position his cock brushes gently against Kurt's, making both boys start and moan. Blaine brushes his thumb against Kurt's cheekbone gently, pressing a kiss to the dimple in his chin before sliding back and straightening up, hovering a few inches above Kurt's lap.

He's so _close_, close enough that Kurt whines and tries to press his hips up, but Blaine stops him with a firm palm to his stomach a scant inch above the head of his cock, a shy smile spreading across his lips. "I want you to sit back," he says, uncapping the lube with one hand, propping himself up as he leans back with the other, "and watch me."

Kurt's mouth dries up. Who is this Blaine and what has he done with Kurt's I-can-only-express-my-feelings-for-you-via-song Blaine?

The first press of Blaine's fingers to his hole has two moans mixing in the air. Kurt watches the tense of muscles in Blaine's strong thighs, the fluttering of his abdominal muscles, the flex of his biceps as he slides one finger in, hips minutely thrusting back into it. Kurt wishes he could fully see, but he supposes that this is just as good.

"You're unreal," Kurt breathes out. "Seriously… Oh my god, Blaine."

"You seem to use that sentence a lot," Blaine says, his voice constricted as he slides his middle finger in alongside his index finger, hissing slightly at the burn and stretch as he twists the digits over one another. He licks his lips with a pink tongue, Kurt's eyes greedily following the movement.

"I can't help it," is Kurt's reply as he fists at the sheets and wishes he could wrap his hands around Blaine's hips, or at least his cock; the temptation is killing him. "This is what you reduce me to. _Look at you_, kneeling over me with your fingers in your ass."

Though he's absolutely captivated by the sight of his boyfriend kneeling over him, _fingering_ himself, Kurt can't help but feel a flutter of happiness that they're so comfortable with each other even in such a pivotal moment that their banter never changes, that they can laugh and snark and joke to ease the slight amount of awkwardness that's settled over them.

Blaine adds a third finger, pressing deeper inside, twisting his wrist, and his hips buck a little when he grazes his prostate. His head falls back, limp, as his eyes slide shut and he feels the moan work its way up his throat, feels his pulse speed up slightly.

"Fuck me," he breathes as he works himself down and back onto his fingers. "Kurt, please."

It's like Blaine's still in a fantasy, between his sheets in the dark with his hand wrapped around his cock and three fingers up his ass, writhing and begging to be filled. Kurt can appreciate this thought, and he will when _he's_ alone, but right now he's still spread out under Blaine, cock resting hard and leaking against his pale stomach.

Kurt gropes on the bed for the lube and condom, fingers coming in contact with the foil packet first. He rips it open—not with his teeth, he's no Brian Kinney—and slides it onto his dick with shaking fingers. He's just about to reach for the lube when he hears the cap pop open and sees that Blaine's retracted his fingers and is holding the lube bottle. Then Blaine's hand is on his cock and he's drizzling lube down, slicking him up with short, tight strokes.

Blaine splays his hands over Kurt's pectorals for balance as he lines himself up, removing one hand to grip the base of Kurt's cock as he slides slowly down, pausing every few seconds to wince in pain, relaxing his body as much as he can until he can slide down further.

"Jesus," he croaks out when he's flush against Kurt's hips, both hands back on Kurt's chest as he wriggles his hips experimentally. "_Oh._"

Kurt places his hands on Blaine's hips, holding him steady as he appreciates the blissed-out look Blaine's still wearing; his mouth is parted, breath shallow and rapid, his hands digging in slightly to the soft skin of Kurt's chest. The tightness, the heat, is almost unbearable: Kurt feels like he can't breathe, like he was made for nothing other than moving up into that sensation surrounding his cock.

Blaine moves tentatively at first, lifting his hips an inch or two before sliding back down. Kurt chokes out a moan and resists the urge to bend his legs and thrust as hard as he can into Blaine. When that slide down is still smooth, still makes Blaine's skin tingle pleasantly, the burn present in the forefront of his mind but diluted with want and need, he braces his weight forward and slides almost all the way off, pushing with his knees, before thrusting back down.

Blaine's moan is throaty and long; Kurt's is high and short.

Blaine moves faster next time, pushing up and down harder as the pleasure builds. He lifts his hands from Kurt's chest and straightens his body again, wrapping a hand around his cock and pumping as he pushes up off the mattress with his legs. His breathing has become more audible, changed from gasps and sharp inhales to _uh uh_'s as he pushes his body to its limits.

"Blaine, I—I," Kurt moans, eyes glued to the view of his cock sliding in and out of Blaine's ass. He grips tightly onto Blaine's thigh, lifting his hips a fraction of an inch up off the bed. When Blaine slides back down this time Kurt brings his hips up too hard, misjudging the distance, and their collision is slightly painful and throws Blaine a little off balance, but with a few short laughs and growing blushes they regain composure.

Bending backward slightly, Blaine props himself up on one hand, the new angle allowing the head of Kurt's cock to brush against his prostate with a jolt, and his hand stutters in its movements on his cock. His mouth opens wider in a soundless gasp, eyes sliding shut as he arches his back. Kurt wonders how he has such strong core muscles, how he can make a move from _The Matrix_ suddenly extremely sexy.

"'M close," Blaine gasps, little beads of sweat gathering in the lines of his collarbone, the hollow of his throat. Kurt wishes he could lick it off, could kiss Blaine and swallow his noises as he comes, but he has to settle for digging his fingernails into Blaine's thigh, feeling the flex of muscle under smooth skin, the scratch of hair against his palms.

Blaine comes with a low moan, hips undulating, swiveling, as he spills over his hand, across Kurt's abdomen, and Kurt follows suit after a few more thrusts, hips snapping up into Blaine's pliant body. Blaine braces his weight with his arms bracketing Kurt's torso, muscles quivering with exhaustion.

They're both a disgusting mess when they separate but Kurt honestly doesn't have the energy to care, and judging by the way Blaine is draping himself face-down across the bed he doesn't either.

He wrinkles his nose as he ties off the condom and disposes it in the trashcan with a flick of the wrist, crumpling up a few tissues to drop on top of it to hide it from nosy siblings named Finn.

Glancing at Blaine, Kurt can't help but smile and card his fingers through sweaty, tangled curls, tracing the line of a bead of sweat that's made its way down Blaine's temple to rest on his golden skin.

"Oh, Blaine Warbler," Kurt says fondly, following the clean, masculine lines of Blaine's body, the curve of his ass and the muscles of his calves and thighs, the gentle slope of his ankles, "how I wish I could resist your boyish good looks and sensational charm, you virginity-stealer."

"You forgot to mention how great I am in the sack," Blaine mumbles, his face pressed into a pillow. "It's imperative that you mention that." Kurt wonders how it is that he's breathing.

Kurt laughs and nudges him until he rolls over with a groan and Kurt can extricate the sheet from under his body, lying down next to him and pulling it up to cover their bodies. "I'm terribly sorry. I'll be sure to put that at the top of my list the next time this comes up in conversation."

Blaine mutters something that sounds like "Didn't _steal_ your virginity," but Kurt can't be sure. As he snuggles closer to Blaine, he finds himself not really caring.


End file.
